


My Favorite Dish is Fish

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Implied digestion, Soft Vore, plotless vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hearts Boxcars' opinion on leprechauns: they're magically delicious.
Kudos: 7





	My Favorite Dish is Fish

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse for myself.

Your name is Trace, a member of the Felt, and it kinda really sucks to be you right now.   
  
Hearts Boxcars holds you up off the ground, practically crushing your arms in his tight grip. He snarls at you, but then the snarl turns into a toothy grin, and the toothy grin opens up into a far, far too large and hungry looking maw.   
  
All you can do is uselessly flail your legs and shout once your head is shoved into that horrible hell-hole he calls a mouth. Your shouting is quickly muffled as your face collides with the back of his throat. Said throat back opens up to accommodate you, and you are shoved further in. Any minute now, you're gonna be feeling teeth tearing into your back and chest, with your ribs and spine and all the squishy stuff in between being crushed by Boxcars' jaws.   
Except, you're not feeling that.  
  
You're just feeling yourself being shoved further down his gullet.  
  
_Oh god. Oh GOD, he's trying to swallow you whole_. You squirm and flail with much more fervor, desperate to get the fuck out of Boxcars' mouth, but his grip on your arms and torso is so tight, all your wriggling isn't making any kind of impact at all. You're shoved down some more, and suddenly you are ten times more claustrophobic than you've ever been. The muscular, slime-coated walls around you are so tight you feel like they alone could crush your ribs. You can't breathe, and the burning in your lungs has you regretting all the screaming you just did.   
  
By the time you feel your face smush against another wall of flesh, your feet are the only thing still in the outside world. You feel Boxcars' teeth lightly press in on your ankles before the ring of muscle in front of you opens up and, with one more horribly loud gulp, you're all the way in. After the rest of you slides down into his stomach, the opening closes back up behind you. The monstrous dersite's stomach isn't as cramped as his gullet, naturally, but it's still such a small space that you're forced into the fetal position.   
  
_No. No no no no nononononono NO this isn't happening this can't be happening_. You (and other members of the gang) have been eaten by this bastard before, but not like this. Never like this. Why is this happening. Why is this happening TO YOU. _Oh, god_.  
  
This'll definitely be a death to keep you up at night for a _while_ after you respawn.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
With one last, huge swallow, you finally get Trace all the way down. Good lord, that took more effort than you were expecting. But the feeling of him struggling all the way down was worth it. Who knew wriggling food was so much fun to eat?   
  
You take a deep, much needed breath as you lean back against the wall. Reaching around your distended gut, you undo your belt and pants, and then a few of your dress shirt's buttons to alleviate some of the pressure. _Ah, much better_. You ought to do this more often. A hell of a lot less mess this way, with no blood to clean up or bits of leprechaun bones to pick out of your teeth. And, hey! Doing it this way, you'd probably be able to off Sawbuck without any of his bullshit injury-induced time travel.   
  
...Then again, he's probably a little too fat to fit down your throat in one piece.   
  
Or even in your mouth in one piece.   
  
Hrm.   
  
That train of thought, however, is derailed when you feel your current meal start to squirm again. The sensations are... different, to say the least. It kinda feels like he's trying to claw his way back out or something. _Pfft_. You press your hand into your stomach, around where you feel Trace clawing at. He stops for a moment before pushing back, probably trying to keep the space from getting even more cramped. You take your other hand and press in on another spot, and Trace squirms some more.   
  
This keeps happening for a good bit, the sharky leprechaun pushing out against your stomach walls and you pushing back at him from outside. Eventually, though, the pushing stops. Trace goes still, and you wager a guess that he's passed out from lack of air in there. Welp, now he's just the regular, inanimate food that you're used to having in your gut, pretty much. Eh, it was fun while it lasted.   
  
You refasten your pants and belt (but leave your shirt alone) and start making the trek back to the hideout. You're stuffed to the gills ( _ha!_ ) with fresh meat, and bed is howlin' your name right now.


End file.
